Before I Forget
by hestia-jones85
Summary: Sometimes, the visions are mere flickers – hazy and muddled. Sometimes, their clarity shakes me out of the limbo. But I'm always sure it is him I see. I'd have loved to tell you the whole story, but you see, I cannot remember much of it.


Truth, when it comes to human emotions, is such an odd thing. Can you put a finger on it? No, you cannot. It is ever changing. It swirls from here to there and back again. It is nomadic, irreverent, sneaky, suspicious, selfish, and greedy. Its very meaning is diluted by the virtue of its existence.

See, truth – before he came into my life – was the standard, "I am not the kind of person to fall in love" stance. I come from a family where 'love' can be manufactured, where human relationships are arranged and planned and executed. There is nothing spontaneous in the way we fall in love. We do not actively seek it or welcome it as others do.

That was how we all grew up, and I'd been waiting, without much interest, for the day when they select a specimen of the purest breed for me. Then, I would wed her, bed her, and hold my breath until she gave birth to a child; only then would I get my release, my solitude again.

Does that sound selfish of me? Of course it does. I am a selfish creature, but I'm not heartless. Women – at least the women I've known in my life – find fulfillment easily. They chance upon it in gleaming silverware, goblin-made jewellery, and crockery of the finest china. I may have been a younger son, but I was still going to be a generous, if unloving and indifferent, husband. I was a Lestrange; I belonged to a family that had been wealthy and powerful for centuries.

Enough of that.

That was my original plan – to uphold my pure-blood values, to procreate, and to live in peace. And I held that to be the truth of my existence, until the day I became suddenly weak and unsettled.

He was younger than me by a year, and he, too, belonged to another quite wealthy and renowned pure-blood family, the Blacks. My brother was already betrothed to his cousin, a delightful and nasty piece of work. We had met during several occasions, and had been civil to each other, if not overtly friendly. So, my former announcement of my life's truth changing due to his coming into it should be taken with a pinch of salt.

Or did I mean it some other way? Did I mean that he really came into my life when I seriously started noticing him? But why did I even start noticing him?

He used to be something of a curiosity in Slytherin, mainly because his elder brother was in Gryffindor and had befriended blood traitors and Mudbloods. Indeed, I used to avoid him in the beginning. But he proved himself to be unlike the wastrel, so I supposed I could be safe in his company.

The thing which intrigued me the most about that boy was his _shell_. It was hard to crack. I personally hadn't given it a try, but some of the people in my circle had been doing that for some time. They had found it to be a futile endeavour. He was merely fifteen – well, _we_ were merely sixteen – but in our house, age mattered, among other things. There was hierarchy upon hierarchy, and no one could quite escape them. Yet no one could get through his shell; he protected it with his charm and dangerous quietness.

He wasn't fragile, by any means, and he held his own against most of them. He was naïve in some ways, although that changed soon enough when he started consorting with us. We were this little band of Death Eater aspirants, and Regulus, whether he was really serious about the Dark Lord, or whether he wanted to prove a point to his brother (who never quite left his consciousness completely), or he wanted to uphold his family name, he joined us. It was, now that I'm thinking about it, an act which interested me because he intrigued me as a person, as I've already said. I was somewhat thrilled to be in close quarters with him, because then only would I have been able to observe him, study him.

He was not impetuous, but calculating and subtle, and those were the qualities which drew me towards him next. It usually fell upon a few of us - Severus Snape (the slippery rascal), Regulus, Evan Rosier, Marcus Avery, and me - to make our plans. The rest, which included Darius Mulciber, Warwick Gibbon, and Thorfinn Rowle, had to do the legwork (or spellwork?). Regulus and I, therefore, got a lot of opportunities to spend time together.

It wasn't long before I realised how much I had begun looking forward to those rendezvous. There was something about the way he brooded – even for someone so young – that held my attention. I was continually moved to prod him, find out what he was thinking, entice him with a riddle, and coax him to speak to me. Evan used to be annoyed by that, I remember, the way I constantly engaged with Regulus. Severus couldn't have cared less, and the other boys were – as befitted their level of intelligence – clueless. But enough about them.

Sometimes, he laughed. Those moments were rare; perhaps that is why I still remember them vividly even in the coldest, most desperate moments of my existence. His laughter always sprang at me; it was loud, hearty, robust, yet pleasant. I was utterly fascinated by it, to tell you the truth.

There were a few moments when he cried, too, but I will come to that later.

My desire for him became apparent much later on. Maybe…a year later, when I was in my final year at school. No, it was before school had begun. We were all in somebody's house – yes, Rosier's. It was at a party at Rosier's house. Simon and Evan had thrown a party in honour of something related to the Dark Lord. I do not remember it clearly, strangely enough. What I can recall – and vividly at that – is how Regulus appeared that night.

We were smoking something strong, a weed that the Rosier brothers had got from India (or some other country). The room had become clouded with greyish smoke, and we were laughing. It was one of the only few times in my life when I made an arse out of myself, but it was…rather intoxicating and fun. And then, Regulus walked into the room, completely sober, and in my mind, very beautiful. His normally slick black hair was strewn about his face, and he had taken off his cloak. He was not wearing robes but trousers (and some loudly complained over it), but he looked beautiful all the same. His resemblance with his brother had never been so pronounced.

He smiled and frowned at the gathering at the same time, and came to sit right next to me. I was rather pleased, to say the least. After a while, he got weary of the noise, so I asked him if he wanted to go out. He was grateful, and we went out into the cool, refreshing night air.

"_I want to talk," he said. _

"_All right," I replied. "Can we sit down somewhere first?"_

"_Yes, of course." _

We made for a bench in the courtyard. I stumbled on the way – tripped over something – and he caught me. He smelt of sandalwood and cinnamon, and I may have leaned in to breathe it in.

"_Are you all right?" he asked._

"_Yes, sorry. Let's sit down."_

"_Certainly."_

"_Do you have a smoke?"_

"_No. I don't smoke."_

"_Sorry…ah wait, I seem to have one left. Would you mind lighting it for me?"_

"_Do you want me to use an Incendio?"_

"_Very funny. A simple Lightening Charm would do."_

"_And you can't do it yourself."_

"_No, I can't. C'mon, Regulus."_

"_Here. Pyrus!"_

"_Thank you. You look…good."_

"_Oh…well, that is a compliment."_

"_Was it unexpected?"_

"_Very. I expect Evan would be jealous if he heard."_

"_Why so?"_

"_Are you seriously asking me?"_

"_No. I'm rather thankful he is too inebriated to come after us. Over-eager and a terrible conversationalist."_

"_And I am not, even though I'm usually the quietest?"_

"_No, you are not. What is it you wanted to talk about?"_

"_I want to become a Death Eater."_

"_What a surprise!" _

"_I am serious, Rabastan, and I want to be taken seriously now."_

"_Who says we aren't taking you seriously?"_

"_You're all going to be initiated soon…"_

"_Not soon, not really…but we are seventeen!"_

"_Fuck that. What does it matter? I have been a part of this for too long now. Why should I be left behind?"_

"_What exactly do you want me to do?"_

"_Just support me, put in a good name if anyone says I'm too young. You know I'm ready."_

"_I see…and what do I get in return?"_

"_What do you want?"_

"_A kiss."_

Maybe, if I hadn't been so addled that night, I wouldn't have asked for such a thing. Fool I may have been to secretly harbour affection for somebody, but I assure you that, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have been that idiotic to lay it out in the open. Yet I had done exactly that.

He looked very much surprised – maybe, not by my lust so much, but by my bluntness. I thought he might hex me; I could see his fingers rubbing his wand. He didn't. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine instead. His lips were cool. Unable to stop myself, I stroked his chin and kept our lips in contact. Slowly, I nudged his, searching for an opening, hopeful to reach out…I couldn't. He pulled away, and the charm ended much too soon.

"_I am sorry," I whispered apologetically._

"_No…I – you don't have to say sorry."_

"_I am not myself tonight."_

"_Oh…but you are."_

"_What? What do you mean?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_You're…you just look so…I couldn't stop…"_

"_It's all right. We do have an agreement, though."_

"_Yes."_

"_Will you tell them, then?"_

"_They're already eager to welcome you, Regulus…as long as you're prepared…"_

"_I am prepared."_

"_All right then."_

"_Have you…have you met him?"_

"_Who?"_

"_The Dark Lord."_

"_Yes…I was one of the few who were given an audience last week. Rodolphus and Bella are already Death Eaters, as you know."_

"_So, they are."_

"_I am surprised you didn't go to your cousin for this."_

"_I'm not really close to her."_

"_She's rather enthusiastic about recruiting. She'll get you in the moment you ask her."_

"_Oh, she has offered...but I'd rather I got in by merit. She doesn't know what I've been up to the past year. You do."_

"_Impressive. One of the better reasons why I like you so much."_

"_What is he like?"_

"_Who?"  
_

"_The Dark Lord."_

"_You'll see for yourself. He cannot be described with mere words."_

"_I see."_

"_It's not…it's not what you think…"_

"_What is it that I think?"_

"_I am not…I admire him as a leader. His mind is fascinating."_

"_You did not need to elaborate, Rabastan."_

"_I didn't want you to misunderstand."_

"_I am leaving."_

"_Stay for some time."_

"_No…I have work to do. I'll see you at school. You know…I do prefer you this way."_

"_What way?"_

"_Good night."_

Even then, as I sat alone on the bench, trying to clear my mind of the drug I'd consumed, I knew I was in love with him. I could feel the absent kiss, still smell the long gone fragrance, still experience the warmth of his body. Maybe, I even laughed like a lunatic, struck by the 'truth' of the moment: I loved a boy who did or did not love me back, who I was unable to figure out, but who had estimated me so well, and even though my beloved belonged to the kind of pedigree my family would have approved of, I'd never have been able to take him home, bonded for life.

The next time we saw each other was on the Hogwarts train. He had started sitting with us the previous year, so it was no surprise when he entered the compartment. I was, however, somewhat miffed when he took the opposite seat, and not the one next to me. He ignored the questioning look on my face, then kept his gaze on the window throughout the rest of the journey. If he did turn to us, it was to answer a question.

I am proud to say I held my own against his…_shell_, as I call it. The others asked him quite a few times if something was wrong, and he'd answer with a shake of the head and a polite smile. I kept silent, though, even as a million thoughts chased each other in my mind. _Should I talk to him? Should I take him away from here and kiss him again? Should I just shake him and wipe that bloody frown off his face?_ That train journey was one of the most suffocating and trying periods of my life.

Once we were back in school, he stayed away from us, choosing to appear at our side only when we had one of our late night meetings in the common room. I began getting annoyed at his attitude, and very soon, I reached a point where I couldn't concentrate on anything. Two months and a half into the school year, I snapped.

Darius, Marcus and Evan were planning to attack some Mudblood Hufflepuff, growing more and more reckless as we were in the final year, and we didn't have much time to orchestrate something that would impress the Dark Lord. Oh, do not think we _needed_ to do anything; you could become a Death Eater as long as you sincerely _wanted to_. But we were young, and we were raring to prove a point, and we were scared that if we didn't prove it then, the older Death Eaters wouldn't give a shite about us. Severus was cooking up spells and curses as usual, Evan was arguing with Marcus and Darius, while Thorfinn and Warwick were playing with a Fanged Frisbee. Regulus was staring into the fire, and I believe I must have been looking at him for quite a long time, because Evan brought me out of my reverie with a loud and angry, "Will you come back to earth, Rabastan?"

I lost it then; I lost my well kept temper. I whipped out my wand and sent a Stinging Hex at Evan. He must have been caught by surprise, because he didn't react immediately. Indeed, everyone, including Regulus, was staring at me. We all stayed frozen in time, breaking out of the spell only when Thorfinn's Frisbee bit his fingers and made him swear.

I tried to apologise to Evan, as flustered by my own actions as the others were, but he had raised his wand already. I saw his lips mouthing the hex; I was lifted from the ground and thrown a few good meters backwards by a hot blast of air. I quickly got up, prepared to retaliate but Severus cast a Shield Charm between Evan and me. He told us both to knock if off, scowling at us. I think he was one of the only few people in the room who actually knew what was going on.

I straightened my robes and walked out of the common room, eager to get away from them, from Regulus. But he had followed me.

"_Rabastan! Wait!"_

"_Leave me alone."_

"_You aren't allowed outside the common room."_

"_Same goes for you. Get back inside."_

"_What sort of stupidity is this? If those Gryffindor heads get you, you'll be in trouble."_

"_I don't fucking care, all right? Why are you following me? What is it to you if I get caught?"_

"_Don't be an arse."_

"_I am sick of you, Regulus. Just leave me alone. I can find my own way back –"_

"_Look at me!"_

He caught me roughly and forced me to face him. His cold grey eyes found mine, and my face burned with shame and regret and anger.

"_What do you want from me, Regulus?"_

"_Me? Me! It is you who are making all the demands."_

"_Indeed. And what demands have I made?"_

"_You've demanded me, Rabastan. Are you going to deny you want me? Are you going to deny that you don't watch me and only me when I am in the same room? Are you going to deny that when I am not there, you make up an excuse and send someone to get me? Are you going to deny that the embarrassment that just happened in the common room wasn't because of me?"_

I was incensed then – incensed at him for his gall, and incensed at myself for my transparency. I shoved his arms off me, and pushed him back. Possessed by sudden lust and a desire to cause him harm, I grabbed the collar of his shirt and held him firmly to the wall, intending to kiss him roughly. I would have probably done it, too, if I hadn't been interrupted by a spell that forcibly separated me from him.

"_What the hell do you think you're doing, Lestrange?"_

It was James Potter: Head Boy, blood traitor, and one of the more obnoxious characters at the school. I wasn't thinking straight that night; I got my wand out to hex him, but Regulus punched me and knocked it out of my hand.

Potter cast a Shield Charm between the two of us. I glared at him and saw confusion on his face. He asked Regulus what was going on, and what we were doing outside the common room two hours after curfew. Regulus simply told him to stay out of it, calling him a blood traitor.

Potter's expression hardened after that, and I noticed him gripping his wand hard. I tried to reach for mine, but with a flick of his wand, he sent it skidding further away from me. Even now, I'm sure Potter would have done something; Regulus being his precious mate's brother probably stopped him. He took thirty house points, told us he was reporting to Slughorn in the morning, and kept at our heels until we had returned to the common room.

When we got back, the common room was empty. Regulus made straight for his dormitory, but I caught his arm and stopped him.

"_What is it now?"_

"_I am sorry."_

"_What for?"_

"_For…"_

"_Well?"_

"_You know the answer."_

He stared at me for an inordinately long time, his face a smooth, blank mask.

"_Meet me in the Quidditch changing room six o'clock in the morning."_

With that, he shook my hand off his arm and went away.

The following morning seemed to promise a cold, rainy day. It was still very dark when I headed for the changing room, fighting my way through the slippery, wet ground. It was almost inhuman to have to be up at that hour; by the time I had reached the locker room, I must have cast at least ten Warming Charms on myself.

The locker room was locked. I cursed loudly. For some reason, I'd thought he would be waiting for me. He was in the team, and he was heading the practice session those days because Armada Walcott, the captain, had suffered a serious back injury. He obviously had the key and should have arrived before me.

I waited for some more time, then I slowly began to wonder if he had stood me up. But he came. A few minutes late, but he came all the same. I was relieved and thrilled when I saw him approaching, nose red and face icy white.

"_Ss-s-s-s-ssorry."_

"_It's okay. You're freezing."_

"'_ow c-c-c-come you aren't?"_

"_Warming Charm. Here, let me cast a few on you."_

He thanked me and took a key out of his pocket. Then, he opened the door and we went inside. Instantly, we felt better. The changing rooms were kept warm because the players stored their Quidditch things there. He shivered a little and then sat down on one of the benches. I remained standing.

"_What's wrong? Come and sit here."_

"_What are you doing, Regulus?"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I don't understand you. I am tired."_

"_But this is so simple, Rabastan."_

"_How?"_

"_You want me, and I'm offering myself to you."_

"_You…Why?"_

"_Because I want to offer myself to someone. Because it feels nice to be wanted. Because I know my way around you and I can do no wrong there."_

"_And is that enough?"_

"_Why should it matter to you? You want me. Now you can have me. I am all yours, so to speak."_

"_But I don't want you like this."_

"_Really? Last night –"_

"_Last night was a terrible mistake, Regulus. Both of us know that. I am truly sorry. I had no right to force myself on you. I…I wasn't myself."_

"_Oh. I beg to differ."_

He stood up and walked towards me. He was so close I could see the specks of black in his grey eyes, so close even the faintest freckles were discernible. I felt a titillating sensation somewhere in the region of my stomach. My throat had run dry.

"_Last night, that out-of-control person we saw, that was you. The show you've been putting on the whole time? The calm and composed younger Lestrange son? That was a sham. You aren't calm or composed; you're passive and callous and cynical. You would spend your life in baleful passivity if given the choice. But that is not all. No! You're cruel, too. You can hurt. You've been avoiding getting your hands dirty by sending the others to carry out the attacks, but if you had to do it yourself, you wouldn't wait for anyone to coax you. You'd do it, and you'd do it with apathy. Something needed to force all of that latent cruelty out of the deceptive façade, and that something happened to be me. So now that I am here, you can stop pretending."  
_

For the first time in my life, I was speechless. I was definitely hurt – not so much by the biting, corrosive words– but that _he _was saying it, and he was doing it without fear or doubt. I felt that his confidence and the utter lack of skepticism in his tone and might lend validity to those accusations.

I stepped back, repulsed and uncertain. I'd have bolted from the room, but he clicked the door shut with a wave of his wand. Suddenly nervous, I reached for my wand. He merely raised an eyebrow at my action.

"_You don't need that. I didn't invite you here for a duel."_

"_What then?"_

"_Do you love me?"_

"_I-"_

I held my breath as he inched closer towards me. There was a sudden familiar whiff of cinnamon and sandalwood, and my mind blurred. I found myself murmuring the words "I love you." He smiled mysteriously, his eyes sparkling with something that could have been amusement or affection or triumph. I didn't care much, though. I dropped my wand, raised my hands to cup his face and kissed him.

I drove into that kiss a year's worth of longing and ache. I took that kiss as payment for every second of anxiety and frustration he had caused me. But my own exacting hunger soon gave way to tenderness. I thought of his laughter, the way he cocked his head when confronted by something incomprehensible, the way he looked with his hair falling about his face, his rare smiles…and I knew…I knew I was neck deep in love with no way out.

Neither of us spoke during what followed that kiss; our actions were enough. The memories of that morning, lucid and vivid, are still burnt into my very soul. I whispered into his ears a lot of nonsense; the gesture made him smile throughout the whole time we were exploring each other's body. I found I could be soft, that I could actually _care _about someone. I found I could be rough, that primal passion wasn't pretty when unleashed. I found I was vulnerable because I had something worthwhile to lose now.

And it astounds me to this day that all that time, I was discovering only myself, while he continued to be lost to me.

XXX

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they belong to J..


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